


The Scariest Change

by forestfantail



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Missing Scene, POV Jemma Simmons, Season 2, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestfantail/pseuds/forestfantail
Summary: How did Jemma Simmons go from "nine of the longest days of my life" to "maybe there is"? Twelve individual snapshots of what Simmons is thinking (mostly about Fitz) over the course of Season 2. We all know how dark Season 2 is for her, so be forewarned this is piles of angst. But also it's a little sweet and funny, because I just can't help myself.***Possible trigger warning*** Simmons really wants to kill Grant Ward this season, so if that bothers you maybe don't read.New:Chapter 10: Maybe there is.Chapter 11: Maybe when you get back we could finally, just, talk about it.Chapter 12: Some place nice.From Chapter 12: "Things were getting back to normal, but in a totally new way. She was excited to see where this next phase of her life would take her. One thing was for certain, whatever happened from now on she would be with Fitz, possibly in all the new ways she’d been dreaming of."





	1. Nine of the longest days of my life

**Author's Note:**

> Been doing a rewatch of season 2 and kept wondering "what is Simmons thinking here?!" So I wrote it down.
> 
> Each chapter is meant to stand alone, but hopefully they come together to show her arc through the season. Totally my interpretation; may differ from your own. Also lots of angst. Sorry.

Jemma felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to find May beside her. “Simmons,” she said, “you need to get some rest.”

Jemma blinked and straightened herself in her chair. She looked over at Fitz, the focus of the room, the focus of any room. Still not awake.

“Did I fall asleep?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

May pointed to the chair Jemma was sitting in. “You leave; I’ll stay. You have to rest.”

Jemma wanted to argue; she wanted to ask May how it was even possible to walk away from Fitz. How do other people do it, she wanted to know. But May had on her no-nonsense face, and honestly, Jemma wasn’t sure she had ever been this tired before in her life. She wanted someone to tell her what to do, to shut off her brain, to give her permission. May nodded, as though she could hear Jemma’s thoughts, and Jemma stood.

“Wake me if he…if something happens.”

May rested her hand once again briefly on Jemma’s shoulder and then sat in what Jemma had come to think of as her chair, facing Fitz.

She looked one last time at him. He was pasty and unshaven, his eyes closed. Always closed. There were tubes and wires all around him, small lights blinking. She glanced at the monitor that showed his heartbeat, a rhythmic bouncing line that indicated that his heart was still pumping, which is how she knew that her own heart would keep working as well. She turned and walked from the room.

Jemma was still confused a bit by the layout of the Playground. She had not had time to explore it, as perhaps the others had by now. She had barely left the small make-shift sick bay in which they were keeping Fitz. She understood where the nearest bathroom was, and she had been given a room in which to sleep, though she hadn’t seen it much. She walked now by the kitchen area, from which she could hear laughter. Trip making a joke. Skye smiling. She caught glimpses of them as she hurried by, but she hoped they wouldn’t notice her. There was still laughter in the world. She felt too numb and exhausted to even be surprised.

She found her bedroom, no small accomplishment since they all looked the same. Well, she was a genius, after all. She sighed, unable to feel pride or even laugh at such a silly achievement. Unable to feel…anything. She lay on her bed, on top of the covers, because who could bother with such things. She stretched out and felt the aching relief in her back after being hunched in one posture for too long. What would Fitz feel, when he woke, after being in one position for this long? Surely he would complain. Probably he would be desperately hungry, and whine so much it would be unbearable.

She thought of what the doctors had said: _“too much time without oxygen,” “significant brain damage,” “might never recover fully.”_ She would need to request some prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella from the next grocery run. He would want his sandwich. _“Might never speak again.”_ She rolled over on her side. Nine days without solid food. She could almost hear his complaints now. _“Might never wake again.”_ Jemma closed her eyes.

She saw the image she always saw in the darkness. Water, rushing in. A pinpoint of light so small above her, getting larger but painfully slowly, and then suddenly, so bright, so much light. But all the light revealed was a limp body beside her, a head she struggled to keep above the water, lips so blue.

She took a deep breath, refusing to open her eyes. She focused her thoughts on the image of that bouncing heartbeat, repetitive and constant, like waves on the ocean. He should have her heartbeat, too, she thought, as she relaxed into sleep. It wasn’t fair that she was living on his.

 


	2. Why do you think I left?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about why Jemma may have chosen to go undercover.

“So,” said Coulson, “have you given any more thought to what we discussed?”

Jemma pushed aside the monitor on which she had been watching Grant Ward doing pushups in his dungeon chamber. She turned to find Coulson standing in the doorway behind her. “The view’s even worse when you’re in the room with him,” he said.

“Has he spoken to you yet?”

“No, and I’m about to give up trying.”

“Does that mean we can dump him in the ocean now?” Jemma said, with no trace of humor in her voice.

Coulson clearly knew she was serious as he sat on the edge of the desk beside her. “Not yet,” he said.

Jemma reached for her cup of tea. It was cold.

“I need to know something soon, Jemma.”

Jemma. When he used her given name she knew he was trying to be gentle. What a good man he was. One of the only reasons she was still with S.H.I.E.L.D. was her loyalty to Coulson. Of course, that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason was having his speech therapy right now, therapy he was fighting with every working part of his stubborn mind. She had left the room because she just couldn’t stand the emotions behind his eyes—confusion, sadness, anger, humiliation…none of which he could verbally express.

Jemma shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. I understand the value of the mission; I really do. But I just have so much here that I…” she trailed off, uncertain what to say. There actually wasn’t much for her to do lately. They were in hunker down and lick your wounds mode now. There were no missions, no scientific puzzles desperately needing her attention. She was ordering equipment for the new lab, making staffing recommendations to Coulson. May was training her to shoot and to lie. She found the lying much easier than it used to be now that she did it all the time. She couldn’t let Fitz see how hurt she was, how angry she was, how much she missed him. He didn’t need her problems when he was unable to handle his own. So, she smiled and encouraged and tried to hold his hand when it shook. Tried, because he wouldn’t let her.

“Give it some more time,” said Coulson. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. But I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. And if I didn’t think you were capable.” He stood up and walked to the door. He turned to look at her. “And if I didn’t think that it might be the best thing for everyone.” He left her alone.

He said everyone, but Jemma knew what he meant. She knew that he was worried, about her, about Fitz. She knew that they all were.

Jemma took one last look at the video feed of a man doing handstand pushups against a padded wall. Not for the first, second, or hundredth time she thought about taking her new gun, walking down the stairs to his cell, and putting a bullet between his cold, wicked eyes. She had come to the realization that she may not be a good person any more, with how often she fantasized about killing this man. She was starting to embrace it.

Jemma got up and headed toward the kitchen. Perhaps she could warm up her tea. She was walking by the lab when she heard the most familiar thing in the world, a sound which stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I want Hobnobs,” he said. “Proper ones.”

“What’s a ‘Hob-nob?’” asked the woman.

“Goo-goo-goo-scrummy thi-things.”

“Scrummy?” the woman sounded like she was smiling. “I think you made that one up.”

Fitz huffed and waved a hand in the air. “Tasty!” he said. “Bi-biscuits.”

“Biscuits? Like the things southerners eat for breakfast?”

Fitz gave an exasperated groan and placed his hands on his hips. “Bloody Americans,” he muttered.

The woman laughed and stood up beside him. Jemma could see now through the lab windows that it was his speech therapist, Dr. Fuller. She was a heavyset African American woman who always seemed to have a smile on her face and had the patience of a saint. “Well, I’ll see if I can get you some of those biscuits, if you’ll do something for me.”

Fitz eyed her suspiciously. “You do your practice, every day, like we discussed,” she said. Fitz nodded. “And you have patience with your friend, okay? She’s just trying to help you.” Fitz rolled his eyes but nodded again. “O-o-ok,” he said.

Dr. Fuller walked to the lab door before she noticed Jemma, who was in such shock that she forgot she shouldn’t be eavesdropping. “Dr. Simmons,” she said, “we were just finishing up.” She gestured back to Fitz, who was staring at Jemma with wide eyes. “See you in a couple days, Fitz.” Fitz mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like a series of stutters and then took off past them toward his room.

“How did you do that?” asked Jemma.

“Do what?” asked Dr. Fuller.

“Get him to speak. I haven’t heard him say that much since before…in a long time.”

Dr. Fuller smiled gently. “He’s making a lot of progress lately.”

“Is he?” asked Jemma. “I haven’t heard him speak in days.”

Dr. Fuller nodded. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

Jemma was confused and a little offended. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t want you to see him struggle, so he doesn’t speak much when you’re around. He acts differently in front of you. But when he and I are alone I can tell he’s getting better.”

Jemma felt a stab of emotional pain so intense that her eyes clouded with tears. “I just try to help. I want to help him more than anything.”

Dr. Fuller patted Jemma’s arm. “I know, dear, but people heal in their own ways. Sometimes we help people more by letting them do things on their own. Sometimes people need space.”

“Space?” said Jemma. She wasn’t sure she had ever been this confused. Space from Fitz…what possible good could come from that?

“I don’t mean you have to stay away from him, dear. Just maybe give him a little more room to practice his speech lessons on his own, and perhaps let him come to our therapy sessions by himself.”

A tear spilled from Jemma’s eye before she regained control of her emotions. May was also teaching her to calm herself. “Oh,” she said.

“Not that you aren’t a huge help to him, and I can see how much you care for each other. He’ll come around,” the woman said. “I’m not sure if you’re a person of faith, but I am.”

Jemma had been staring off into space, but she turned her attention back to the doctor. “I have faith in science.”

Dr. Fuller smiled. “Well, whatever your faith, I find that at times like these it’s important to ground yourself in it, to search for strength and answers. A good man like Fitz can heal with patience and hard work and love. My faith gives me the strength to provide him the patience and hard work, but the rest...the rest is up to you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fuller.”

“Take care, Dr. Simmons.”

Jemma walked in a daze to her room. Faith. And love. And science.

She sat down on her bed and thought. Science had never failed her. Yes, of course, this was the answer. When faced with a problem what did she do? Create and test a hypothesis.

Hypothesis 1: Fitz healed better without her.

Jemma tamped down the emotions that rose in her at this statement and tried to think logically. Yes, all evidence supported this hypothesis. Dr. Fuller had told her so, and she had heard his progress with her own ears. _Hobnobs._ He was in there, the sweet, hungry monster she knew so well. He was in there somewhere and if she left Dr. Fuller to her work perhaps he would come back to her someday.

Jemma knew what she had to do, what was, as Coulson had said “the best thing for everyone.” But she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.

Hypothesis 2: Leaving Fitz would kill her.

Well, this one was a tad melodramatic. Not that it wasn’t true. But losing her greatest joy and being in constant pain…that wasn’t the same as dying, was it?

Fitz needed her. She needed him and his brilliance and his selflessness to survive the bottom of the ocean, and now he needed her strength to survive himself. She could do it—for him. And if it broke her? She thought back to Ward and the bullet he had coming. No, she wouldn’t let it break her. She had plenty to do before she gave in.

 

 


	3. So, how is everyone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma in Hydra. Also why she cut her hair. Pretty dark stuff.

Jemma closed the door to her apartment, locking it behind her. She went to hang up her jacket but stopped when she heard a faint sound from her kitchen. As quietly as she could she pulled the gun from her purse and crept over to the room’s entryway. She took a deep breath and spun around the corner, gun aimed at the noise.

A bead of water lingered for a moment on the faucet before it fell to the sink with a soft _plop_.

Jemma slowly lowered her gun. She looked around at the empty room. She was alone.

 

It took several weeks before she admitted it to herself. Weeks of smiling at evil coworkers and eating fish tacos and buying monochrome sweaters. Weeks of chipper music and coffeeshop pastries. Weeks of waking from feverish dreams. Weeks of denial.

And then one evening she had one glass of wine too many (really, she should never drink alone, but then who was there to drink with now?), and she cursed his name. Cursed him for hurting her. For not being there when she needed him. For saving her but failing to save himself. For showing her something that she hadn’t wanted to see. For making her feel more powerless than even Ward had, when he’d dumped her like rubbish into the ocean.

She cursed Fitz’s name, and that night she cried herself to sleep. She woke with a wounded head; it felt like a rattle in a baby’s hand. It was a Saturday, at least, and when she had finally been able to leave her place she had gone to the hairdresser’s around the corner. “Make me look different,” was all she had said, and she left a few inches of hair on the shop floor. The woman had said that it would make her feel lighter, but her hair wasn’t really what was weighing her down.

That night, lying in bed and unable to sleep, she finally let herself feel what she had been repressing for all those weeks, months even. She was furious at Fitz. And she was ashamed, so ashamed, to be furious at Fitz.

Fitz had saved her life. He had given her the last breath that existed between the two of them, and he had suffered so much—almost died—because of it. And Fitz had been right. He had been absolutely right about how they could survive. Logically there was no other way they could have both made it to the surface. Fitz had an arm broken in two places, and they were ninety feet under water. Even if he had taken that breath he wouldn’t have been able to swim that far, and he certainly couldn’t have pulled her with him.

Jemma knew that Fitz had been right to do what he did. But that didn’t give him the right to do it.

How dare he make decisions for her? How dare he treat her like she wasn’t his partner, his sounding board, his equal? Since when did he make unilateral decisions about their lives? He should have told her the plan. He should have let her decide.

But she knew why he didn’t. And this was the part she had avoided thinking about the most.

He had turned her into an object. The object of his…affection.

“More than that,” he had said. _More than that._ What did it mean? More than a best friend in the whole world. More than she felt for him.

It wasn’t that Fitz was in any way romantically unappealing. He was handsome, objectively so. She had actually had a small crush on him when they had first met. Memorized his class schedule, followed him about. But she had quickly gotten over that when she had realized his value as a working partner. Who needed romance when there was science to be done?

She didn’t even remember what it was like to think of him in this way. He was Fitz. Just Fitz. Her best friend and work companion. She didn’t want anything more from him, and the more she thought about it the more she rejected the idea. She was not ready for this much change. Everything around them had fallen apart. She wanted this one thing—this one perfect relationship—to stay the same. It was irrational for her to want to cling to something that was probably dead; she knew this. It was unfair for her to be angry at him for his feelings, feelings he had clearly been hiding for some time. She knew this, too. But she couldn’t fight it any more. In all kinds of ways, for good reasons and bad, and coated in heavy layers of guilt and shame, she was angry at Fitz.

How long had he felt this way about her? How had she not known? She felt almost betrayed. And sad. Oh, Fitz. Oh, poor Fitz. God, what had either of them done to deserve this?

When the anger was gone she just felt hollow. And she missed him. She missed him so much.

The next morning Jemma was surprised to see her shorter hair in the mirror. She was startled to find that some losses seem so insignificant, when others will never let you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well aware that some people may disagree with Jemma's POV in this scene on what Fitz did at the bottom of the ocean. I'm not saying I agree myself, but I think this is where Jemma's at. (Also, she won't admit she likes him now, but I promise we get there...)


	4. How have you been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma returns from Hydra to find Mack hanging with her best friend. She's not pleased.

Jemma had thought he would miss her. She had missed him so much she had even kept a running conversation with him in her head. Any time her colleagues at Hydra would misinterpret their data or stare at her blankly after one of her science puns or get excited about killing billions of people, she would think “Can you believe it, Fitz?” Fitz’s absence had only made her more aware of how inseparable from so many aspects of her life he actually was. And here he had been that entire time, starring in a buddy movie with Mack. The ruggedly handsome behemoth with a heart of gold and his quirky but brilliant best friend, discovering their shared love of video games by day, stealing bodies by night. Check your local listings.

How she loathed Mack. Of course, she was very grateful for all he had done for Fitz, and he seemed like a very nice person. But still. He was the worst. Joking around with Fitz like that was something a person could do. Like one could just walk up to Fitz and have a casual conversation not undercut with subtext and layer upon layer of pain. Didn’t he know the level of emotion even looking at Fitz could bring? What was wrong with this man?

And clearly Mack didn’t understand Fitz. Except, that is, for all the times he understood what Fitz was saying or thinking much better than her. Other than that, though, she had him beat. She hadn’t once seen him bring Fitz tea. Not once!

And then there was Fitz himself. So much better than he had been when she had left, and yet so much angrier. He could speak so well now, but the things he said to her…

And the things he must have said about her, for Mack to have talked to her the way he did. To think that Fitz and all his new friends thought that she had run away because Fitz had told her how he felt. Honestly! Bobbi was right about exes: they say the worst things about you!

Ex-friends, of course. Not that Fitz was her ex in the way that Hunter was Bobbi’s ex. He was her…ex-Fitz. How many people had actually had a Fitz? There couldn’t be a term that encapsulated all that it meant to lose one.

He was better, though. At least there was that. She had left in a bid to help him heal, and she had succeeded. She had sacrificed for him, and, though he clearly didn’t understand, she was still confident she did the right thing.

Although he could have missed her a little.

 


	5. But is the ride worth it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma ponders her feelings for Fitz after her roller-coaster conversation with Bobbi.

Jemma did not like feeling vulnerable. She was a confident and controlled woman, and admitting her deepest emotions was something she only did with great difficulty, even to herself. So, when Bobbi had asked her about her relationship with Fitz, she had frozen up. Or she had tried to. Bobbi was not an easy person to lie to. Or perhaps she hadn’t grown as much in that area as she had hoped. Or perhaps she was just incapable of keeping her cool whenever Fitz was mentioned. She hated to think what might have happened had any of her Hydra comrades ever found out about Fitz.

Right now he was sitting across from her on the quinjet, which was making its way to an alien city in Puerto Rico. They were strapped in, and the noise from the engines made conversation difficult. The team sat in silence, Fitz staring at a tablet and beside him Mack staring off in to space. Jemma was trying to keep from staring at Fitz.

He had changed so much in just a little over a year. If she sat this Fitz down next to that boy she had shared a lab with for so long, how different they would be. She felt a surge of emotion as she watched him, which was a pretty standard reaction for her. Every interaction with Fitz now brought out strong feelings in her. And no matter what emotions she felt—irritation, anguish, elation—there was always an undercurrent of longing. A constant ache in her stomach, in her mind, in her heart. She wanted him, but in what capacity she did not know.

Bobbi had said “I’ve never been friends with a guy first,” implying there could be a second something. That a relationship could start out one way and then become something else. Jemma didn’t really understand that. Relationships fit into certain labeled boxes, like the ones she preferred neatly stacked in rows in her lab. Otherwise, there would be complete chaos. Relationship chaos. Oh, hell, she was already in that, wasn’t she?

What was she so afraid of? Because thinking of Fitz in a new way really did frighten her. Did she fear losing him? She already had, possibly for good. Jemma shuddered involuntarily at this realization and looked over at Fitz to see if he had noticed. He tapped the tablet in his hand extra hard, like he was frustrated by it, and absentmindedly scratched at his stubble. Was it itchy, Jemma wondered? He couldn’t really shave with his trembling hands, she knew. She didn’t mind the effect the extra hair had on his features. She imagined touching his face. Would it be soft—the hair—or rough?

She glanced down at his open collar. He couldn’t tie a tie either. A year ago Fitz would have looked at himself in the mirror like this and thought he was a disaster. Jemma had no problem with his new look, though. She was getting used to all of his changes—the stuttering, the frustrated hand gestures, his unkempt appearance. She thought they were a bit…adorable. If she were being totally honest with herself. Which she rarely was. 

Fitz glanced up at her, and they made eye contact. She turned away as quickly as she could, but not before he had probably noticed that she was staring. Stop being a creep, she told herself. She tried to appear to be very interested in one of the ceiling tiles. What was it May had taught her in her lying lessons— _don’t pretend to feel, actually feel._ She _was_ very interested in that ceiling tile.

She felt Fitz’s eyes leave her, although it took longer than she would have thought.

She couldn’t imagine her life without him. This was what frightened her. It wasn’t that she didn’t occasionally—hadn’t _always_ occasionally—thought of Fitz in a more than just friends kind of way. She was a woman and he was a man, after all. (He smelled nice. He had always smelled really nice.) But she needed him in her life forever. What if they tried something romantic and it didn’t work? What if they could never be around each other again? Jemma shut her eyes and leaned her head back. They were already almost at that point, weren’t they?

Jemma hazarded another glance at Fitz, at his scruffy face and exposed neck and brilliant blue eyes. She was still not being honest. _Don’t pretend, actually feel._ It wasn’t fear of things not working out that kept her from wanting to try for something with Fitz. It was fear that they would work. That she might fall so hard that she would never recover. Of all the things that she feared—all the many nightmares that haunted a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent—the greatest, she realized, was losing control of her own heart.


	6. He lied to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Jemma finds out Fitz lied to her to protect Skye. She really, really doesn't care about him at all anymore, not in the least. (Also, Fitz wants a dog.)

A clatter from the corner of the lab broke Jemma’s concentration. She looked up from the screen on which she was viewing Skye’s DNA results. Skye’s actual DNA results, not the forgeries she had been looking at for days.

“Sorry. Sorry. Just needed the—” Fitz held up his multi-tool and looked at her.

Jemma said nothing and went back to her work. Her science. Something she used to think mattered to Fitz. Obviously, she had been wrong about him. For. Years.

“Jemma?” asked Fitz. He sounded nervous. Well he should be. “I need your permission…”

She turned to face him with tight lips and saw his hesitant but defiant look. “I need your permission; you’re my boss…” he said and held out a clipboard in her direction.

Jemma took the clipboard from him and flipped through the attached paperwork. “You want to patch in an internet connection into the Cage on the Bus?” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “You know Skye isn’t allowed internet until we know more about her condition, Fitz.”

“No, it’s not for that.” He shook his head. “S’for watching fi-fi-fi-movies.”

Jemma blinked. “Movies?”

“She’s bored. And I can’t do another puzzle.”

Jemma took a deep breath and gripped the clipboard tighter. So, that’s where he was spending all his time. Not that she had noticed that lately he wasn’t in the common room or kitchen or lab or almost anywhere else she could see him during their off time. She wasn’t looking for him, not at all. But it was difficult to make a show of intentionally ignoring someone when they weren’t around.

“I understand that she has little to do while in confinement. I care about her, too, you know, Leo.”

Fitz winced slightly at the mention of his first name, which Jemma counted as a small victory. So, he thought he was a better friend to Skye, now, along with thinking Jemma was some sort of lying, heartless monster?

“I gave her some board games,” Jemma said. “Operation. It was always my favorite as a child.”

Fitz rolled his eyes— _he actually rolled his eyes!_ —the disrespectful, ungrateful, not-even-a-real-scientist-because-what-kind-of-scientist-alters-test-results, ridiculous man. “It’s not really a big hit, that game. Especially with me,” he said, holding up a shaking hand.

Jemma did not know how to respond to that. She looked back down at the paperwork. “She can’t have internet, there’s just no way, Fitz.”

Fitz sighed and reached for the clipboard. Jemma pulled it away from him. “I could, however, allow a DVD player.”

Fitz looked aghast. “A DVD player? This isn’t the middle ages, Simmons.”

Jemma was offended.

“Look, I am trying to be helpful. You can find some DVD’s, or you can get a deck of cards. Those are your options.”

Fitz nodded, and she could tell by the way he wasn’t really focusing on her that he was thinking.

“What?” she asked.

“I just remembered that there’s a whole stack of DVD’s that Koenig left in the common area. And one I’ve always wanted to see.”

“What film?”

“ _Old Yeller_.”

“ _Old Yeller_?!” Jemma laughed. “Fitz, that’s the most depressing film of all time!”

“Is it?” he asked, a confused look on his face. “But it’s got a dog on the cover.”

“So?”

“So, dogs are ha-a-appy. They make you happy. It’s why I want one.” He said this matter of factly, like everyone knew these things. Jemma realized that she didn’t.

“You want a dog? What happened to wanting a monkey?”

Fitz shrugged and refused to meet her eyes. “Tired of wanting what I can’t have.”

Jemma swallowed and tried to think of something to say, but before she could Fitz grabbed the clipboard from her hand. “So, I’ll s-s-settle for what I can. I’ll find a DVD player,” he said.

“Good then,” Jemma called out after him as he sped out of the lab. She preferred having the last word against adversaries.

 

That night Jemma watched as Fitz rifled through the DVD’s on the shelf in the common room, quickly pulling one out and walking out the door. She noticed it had a photo of a yellow dog on the cover.

She imagined him and Skye sitting on Skye’s bed and watching the movie, laughing about how great it was that Jemma wasn’t there but then sobbing against each other as the credits rolled. This film would not make him happy. Jemma felt a twinge of concern for him, but she pushed it aside. He was a different man than the one she had known for what seemed like her entire life. He was now the kind of man who kept secrets, who spent all his time with people who weren’t her, who wanted a _dog_. She did not care for animals much, but if she did she thought she would be a cat person.

Fitz was different and so was she. No more would she let this man hurt her, and that started with not caring about what he was doing right now. She didn’t want to watch that movie anyway, and had he asked her she most certainly would have said no. Not that he had asked. But she would have said no. She really, really didn’t care.

Jemma pulled her afghan tighter around her and tried to focus back on her book. After a few attempts at reading the same sentence she stood up and stretched. She walked over to the stack of DVD’s and thumbed through them. _Paranormal Activity_ and _Frozen_? Koenig had interesting taste. She pulled out a film that she recognized. _Lady and the Tramp_. That was a sweet film. The scruffy little Tramp had always stolen her heart.

She started to put the film back at the bottom of the stack where she’d found it but then paused. She placed it on top of the other DVD’s and turned back to her chair. Not that she was making him a recommendation (he wouldn’t take it if she did), but if he happened to notice this film and want to watch it, that would be alright. There were plenty of happy movies about dogs. He could watch one of those.

Not that she cared at all.


	7. You know what the scariest change is? It’s you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's reaction to Fitz telling her she was the scariest change. Heartbreak.

It was over. Everything was over. Fitz was never going to be her friend again. He hated her, that much was obvious. He had told her that the change in her was the most frightening change of all the changes they were hurtling through. He thought the worst of her, thought everything she said and did was wrong. She had always felt so supported by him, so safe. She could be a polarizing person at times, especially when it came to decisions in the lab, but since she was sixteen she had always had Fitz to back her up. And now…

She was heartbroken. She didn’t care how this sounded. She knew heartbreak was a term more commonly reserved for romantic relationships, but she didn’t have the energy to find better language. Heartbreak. All of the sad songs seemed to apply to her now. She had never had her heart broken before, but she was certain from the extensive amount of sappy poetry she had read as an adolescent (purely for academic purposes, of course) that this was what she was feeling.

And Fitz was unfazed. He seemed more concerned about Skye than anyone. Skye this and Skye that. Jemma loved Skye to bits, but she couldn’t deny it any more: she was jealous. He would barely look at her, and when he did there was such anger and, worse, _disappointment_ in his eyes. He certainly didn’t have those feelings for her anymore that he had expressed at the bottom of the ocean. Why bring them up, why make her feel such guilt and pain and even a burgeoning hope by insisting that he would die for her, if his feelings had been so fickle, the words so easily washed away by the waves?

Because now that Jemma thought about her jealousy and her heartbreak and the fact that even through all of this she still just missed him so much, she knew that there was more to her feelings for him than just friendship. She couldn’t deny that any more either. There was more than that on her side, too. But now he hated her, and it was too late. Now it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies. Broke my own heart with this one. The moment she thinks he's done with her is the moment she can no longer deny her feelings for him. So much pain.
> 
> The next chapter is happier though!


	8. You want me to leave, don’t you Jemma?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Fitz leaves with the toolbox. Jemma's a little giddy about being his friend again.

Wow, Fitz was so hot. Which was an absolutely normal thing to think about a close friend, Jemma thought. Or, even if it wasn’t, she didn’t care. She was being totally rebellious, and it felt amazing.

She had actually determined to steal Fury’s toolbox from the moment they had asked her and Fitz to break into it for them. Gonzalez and Bobbi. To think, she had opened up to that woman, considered her a friend. Well, she knew now who her real friends were. Fitz had carried her plan out to perfection, even without her explaining it to him! It was like he could read her mind. How she had missed that.

Jemma hummed to herself as she put the fake toolbox down on the counter. “Nope,” she said to Mack, who was standing over her shoulder, “it’s still not working. The only way to open it is with touch, more specifically with the touch of Coulson’s hands. And since they’re attached to his body…”

“They don’t have to be,” muttered Mack. Jemma turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just, the whole point of this operation was to get this box, and now you’re telling us unless we have Coulson—”

“It’s pointless, yes.” Jemma smiled. “Oh well. Perhaps if you’d asked nicely.”

Mack looked away from her and shook his head. He walked out of the lab without another word. Excellent.

 

Jemma was spending more time in her room now than she had since moving to the Playground. She was tired of all the noise, the armed guards marching the halls, the frustrated glares from people she had once trusted. She felt violated and abandoned. Except when she thought of Fitz.

Fitz was out there somewhere being brave and wonderful. Probably he was even trying to find his way to Coulson. Without a doubt he had already opened the toolbox. She would have put good money on him being able to open it within half an hour, twenty minutes under pressure. Brilliant man that he was.

Lying on her bed, Jemma yawned and stretched. She had been so keyed up since the hostile takeover that she hadn’t slept much. She had been lying awake the last couple of nights, thinking about Fitz.

She didn’t have to worry about him, at least not much. They were keeping a tail on him, which was infuriating, but, though she couldn’t stand the idea of him being stalked like an animal, at least she kept hearing from the reports that he was safe.

No, she kept thinking of him for other reasons. Other, more enticing reasons. She had had the strongest desire to leave with him. For her plan to work, these so-called S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had to think that the box was here and she was working on opening it. She couldn’t have them suspecting or discovering Fitz. She couldn’t leave with him. But that didn’t stop her from imagining what it would have been like if she had.

They could have been on the run together. How thrilling it would have been. Exploring the outside world together; how long had it been since she’d been anywhere but this base? She imagined what they would do, where they would go. Maybe they would get a van or something like Skye used to have, and set up a little lab in the back. Unlock Fury’s toolbox and all its secrets. It would be fun, and dangerous, and maybe it would be just what they needed to restart their relationship. Or start something new.

Perhaps he would smile at her. God how she missed seeing his smile. Maybe he would make her laugh. She would listen to a lengthy description of the kind of dog he wanted. She could make him tea. And some night, when it was just the two of them, lying there, gazing up at the ceiling of their cramped little van, maybe she would take his hand. Maybe she would tell him the words that had been slowly building in her for who knows how long now. A finish to the conversation he had started so long ago.

Jemma was just beginning to get to the good part of her fantasy, the part where she acknowledged that sassy outlaw was a pretty good look on Fitz, when there was a soft knock on her door.

“Jemma?” a voice called. Bobbi.

“On my way,” she said. She sighed, reaching off the bed to grab her shoes. She couldn’t be with him now, but at least she had him in her thoughts. And in her heart. Which is exactly where he should be.


	9. Whatever that is, it’s not love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is back but so is Ward. Jemma can't concentrate on anything but protecting Fitz.

He was back. And she would keep her promise. Next time she saw him, she had said. And now was her chance. She was going to kill Ward.

It was because of Fitz. She had seen him walk into her lab and her heart had nearly burst from her chest. How dashing he looked. Well, honestly he looked almost just like the last time she had seen him, but that would do perfectly for her. He had smiled and said, “Hi Jemma.” Be still her heart. She had opened her mouth to say she didn’t know what, and then she had seen him. Grant Ward. Walking down the hall in front of her. He nodded in her direction as he passed. She felt an overwhelming urge to rush at him and rip his smirking face off.

“Can you believe it?” Fitz had followed her gaze and was looking at Ward’s back as he continued down the hallway. “Coulson collected him for a mission. Said we needed Ward to get Skye back. Of all people.”

“How horrible,” said Jemma.

“Yeah, it was,” said Fitz, and she turned her attention back to him.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Course I am,” Fitz gave her a soft grin. “I’m tougher than I look.”

Jemma knew this to be true, but she worried regardless. All the struggles and suffering Fitz had been through these last months: the man who caused it should not be anywhere near him. For so long she had felt immeasurable guilt for Fitz’s injuries, knowing that he had sacrificed himself for her. Sometimes early on she had barely been able to look at his beautiful face—so twisted with confusion and pain—her guilt had been so great. But over time she had realized who was actually to blame for Fitz’s condition. It wasn’t her inability to save him and it wasn’t Fitz’s feelings that caused this. It was the man who had betrayed them.

Ward could not be trusted. Something else would happen and any one of them could be in danger. And she could not let anything happen to Fitz again, not even the emotional turmoil of having this psychopath around. She would make good on her promise to kill him. She would end this, once and for all.


	10. Maybe there is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lead up to the "maybe there is" conversation between Fitz and Simmons. Jemma saw Hunter with Bobbi and it made her realize...

Jemma had failed. She had failed to kill Ward, and look what he had done to Bobbi. She was lying there in a hospital bed, barely able to breathe. And poor Hunter. Jemma watched him watch Bobbi. She knew that look. She invented that look. Just a few months ago she had sat not far from this very spot and watched Fitz in that same way. Bobbi had taken a bullet for Hunter. He had been horrified and furious when he had told them. Jemma knew those feelings, too.

It seemed like forever since she had been that scared and grief-stricken girl, waiting impatiently to have her best friend back. So much had changed. Fitz had changed, Skye had changed, Jemma herself had changed. And Trip—Jemma inhaled a shaky breath. She could not bear to think about Trip.

Bobbi gave a muffled moan, still unconscious, and Hunter bent over her to rest his hand on her forehead. Jemma wondered what kind of advice she might give him about how to handle this. _Don’t wait too long to say what you want to say._ That’s what she would tell him. _Don’t wait until it’s too late._

Like she had.

Jemma was very happy to have Fitz’s friendship again, but she doubted that he felt any more than that for her now. How can you restart a conversation after almost a year had passed? A year of lies and anger and pain? What would he say to her if she asked him if he still thought of her that way? He wasn’t a cruel man, but he probably still had enough hurt in him to tell her she was crazy.

_Hey, remember that time many months ago when you suggested that you might have a romantic interest in me? Well, I would like to now reciprocate that sentiment by telling you that I may have a romantic interest in you as well. Please wait while I demonstrate the violence of my feelings for you by running away to vomit._

Jemma had contemplated what she would say to him many times, but she could never get the exact wording right. Mostly that was because even thinking about it made her so nervous she couldn’t keep thinking.

Coulson walked into the make-shift operating area. He spoke briefly to Hunter and then walked over to Jemma. She noticed that Fitz wasn’t with him.

“How is she?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected, Sir,” she said. “We’ve stopped the bleeding and made it so she’s getting enough oxygen. She’ll need more surgeries, though. We’ll have to bring in a specialist.”

Coulson nodded. “Good work, Agent Simmons.”

Jemma glanced over at Hunter, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Bobbi. “Where’s Fitz? Isn’t he helping you with something?” Jemma didn’t care if this question came out of the blue or if she sounded a bit desperate. She needed Fitz near her right now, because of the danger and because of…all the things she didn’t have the courage to tell him.

If Coulson thought it was odd, her asking about Fitz, he didn’t show it. “He’s getting suited up to help me take on Gordon.”

“Gordon? You’re taking him into battle?” Jemma must have spoken rather loudly; several agents turned to look at her. She lowered her voice. “Sir, do you really think—”

“Agent Fitz is the only person capable of containing Gordon, who is one of our biggest threats right now. We have to save the agents on that aircraft carrier, and I need Fitz to do that.”

Jemma knew that he was right, or at least she knew that there was no point in arguing.

“He’s in the locker room gathering his things,” Coulson said gently. “Tell him wheels up in five.”

Without thinking Jemma rushed from the room. She couldn’t stop her feet, and now she realized that no matter the hopelessness of the situation, she couldn’t stop her heart. She had to tell him what she felt. What if something happened to him and she never got another chance? He could laugh or yell or tell her she was mad. All he needed to do first was listen.

What would she say? She had no idea. She never was any good at improvisation. She would think of something, and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be too late.


	11. Maybe when you get back we could finally, just, talk about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Simmons have the conversation that they must have had but was never shown to us. My version of it, that is.

Coulson had lost a hand. Daisy looked like all the life had nearly been drained out of her, which after seeing your father murder your mother, was pretty understandable. But Fitz, Fitz looked absolutely fine. He had waved at her from outside the operating theater, as she worked on Coulson’s arm. She had quickly counted all the fingers on Fitz’s raised hand, run her eyes over his face—both eyes still there—and down his torso—no signs of blood. He was alright. She had given him a brief smile and turned back to Coulson. The next time she looked up he was gone.

 

She didn’t see him again until the next morning. She had gone to bed quite late, exhausted emotionally as well as physically, and slept until almost nine, some sort of record for her. She had leapt out of bed and into some clothing and hurried to check on Coulson and Bobbi. Both were fine and asleep. She rechecked their charts and asked the nurses for updates, but there was surprisingly little for her to do. She wandered into the hallway and noticed the near-silence of the base. She wasn’t the only one who had slept in. It was often this way after large or catastrophic missions, everyone needing their space and time to recover. She had come to love these moments of calm, especially since there were so few of them.

She made her way to the kitchen for her morning tea. She was just filling the kettle when she heard a cough and a mumbled, “Morning.”

Jemma looked over her shoulder and saw Fitz standing in the doorway. Immediately she froze in place.

“Oh. Hello!” She was trying to sound chipper, but she thought sounded more like she was being strangled. “You’re up!”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I…?” he motioned toward the kitchen.

“Of course,” she said. She smiled at him as he walked towards her. “Sleep alright?”

Fitz nodded. “Hey Jemma?”

“Yes, Fitz?”

“I think the kettle’s full.”

Jemma looked down at her hands, which were being bathed with a steady stream of water as the kettle overflowed under the running faucet. “Oh, I um, yeah. Thanks.” She turned off the water and wiped down the kettle with a tea towel. “Would you like some?” She held up the kettle, hoping that she didn’t pour the water all over herself. Get it together, Simmons.

“Sure,” he said and gave her a shy smile.

Jemma felt a swooping sensation in her stomach. As she turned on the stove and arranged the kettle she assessed her current situation. She had told Fitz she wanted to talk about what he had said at the bottom of the ocean when he got back. He was now back. They were alone. Bloody hell.

Jemma had not had a moment to think about any of these personal things once Fitz and Coulson had left the base. Bobbi was still recovering from surgery, and then they got the word that Coulson had had his hand cut off and began prepping for that. There really hadn’t been time for her to think about what she had said to Fitz or the way he had reacted. But now…

Jemma heard the quiet in the room. The only sound was Fitz breathing.

“It’s been a crazy few days,” she said, trying to break the silence. “Even for us.”

Fitz laughed. “Yeah. Mack chopped off Coulson’s arm. He’s never going to live that one down.”

“Well, he did save Coulson’s life, so I think all will be forgiven.”

“How is he?”

“He looked terribly nervous. Kept hovering around the operating table asking if Coulson would be ok on repeat, until I had to order him to leave.”

“I meant Coulson.”

“Oh,” said Jemma. She turned to look at Fitz for the first time. She had been focusing on the kettle. “He’s fine. He will be.” Fitz was still softly smiling at her; she wondered if he had stopped since this conversation began. She could feel her cheeks beginning to flush. “How are you?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Killed Gordon.” Jemma gasped, but Fitz shrugged. “Don’t really feel bad about it. He was trying to kill us and would have if he had gotten those crystals. It was self-defense.” Fitz looked almost certain of what he was saying, but Jemma could tell he wasn’t convinced. She put her hand on his hand, which was resting on the counter between them.

“You did the right thing. Sometimes we have to make tough calls. But if you hadn’t stopped him imagine the consequences. Look what happened to Coulson.”

Fitz seemed encouraged by her speech. He moved to place his other hand over hers, so that her hand was sandwiched between his own. She felt the warmth of him radiate through her.

“Thanks, Jemma.”

She smiled, staring down at their hands. Perhaps now would be a good time for her to say—suddenly a scream broke through her thoughts. She looked around panicked for a moment and then realized the sound was coming from the kettle. She rushed to pull it off the stove. She could hear Fitz chuckle behind her.

“With all the PTSD around here, maybe we should get a kettle that doesn’t sound like it’s dying every time it does its job.”

Jemma did not respond. Her trauma might still be too fresh for her to laugh.

She felt Fitz’s hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Jemma?” She had her back to him, and for some reason she was fighting back tears. Stupid emotions. Somehow they always let her down.

Fitz apparently noticed her distress. “I’m sorry, Jemma. I didn’t mean to upset you. That was insen-sen-sen-careless of me.”

He was stuttering a bit, which Jemma took as a sign that he was nervous. She turned to face him and—before she could think—wrapped her arms around him. He collapsed in on her, and they hugged for the first time in what seemed like…Jemma didn’t even remember.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. Jemma patted his back with one of her hands.

“It’s not your fault. I think I’m just feeling all the emotions I had to put aside while in the moment. Bobbi and Coulson…it’s so awful.”

Fitz gripped her tighter. “I know. At least they have you, though. They’re lucky.”

“At least I have you, Fitz. I’m the lucky one.” She was glad she couldn’t see his reaction. She was starting to feel like she couldn’t put off that conversation any longer.

“Jemma,” said Fitz, and he pulled back from her embrace and looked her in the eyes. “Do you still want to talk about what you said, that thing before I left, you said that, but maybe you were just emotional at the time, but if you did want to talk, we could maybe do it. If you want.”

Jemma was only half-listening to Fitz’s ramblings. Mostly she was focusing on his eyes. His nervous and sweet face. The way his hair was sort of sticking up a bit on one side, probably from the way he had slept.

“Fitz?” she asked. He nodded. “Do you think we could maybe go on a date some time?”


	12. Some place nice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the lead-up to the conversation Fitz and Simmons have moments before the monolith sweeps her away. Jemma is hopeful for the future (poor thing). Apologize in advance for the abrupt ending, but you know the rest.

Fitz had been following her about all afternoon. She enjoyed the company. They had been so terrifically busy since the aircraft carrier incident that she had barely had a chance to see him. Bobbi was going to need multiple surgeries and aftercare, and most of this was falling on Jemma. She had also assisted with the T.A.H.I.T.I. program procedure that had been performed on Skye’s father, not to mention the fact that she was contributing her Inhuman research to Skye’s new team project. She had so many things going on that she barely had time to think, let alone think about Fitz. And now she had been tasked with overseeing the research into the monolith. Would things never settle down?

Fitz had also been swamped, what with designing a new giant plane and a robotic hand for Coulson. Really, they overworked him. He was a genius, but, honestly, how did they expect him to be an expert in aeronautical engineering and robotics? The same way they expected her to pick up an expertise in medicine, she supposed—on the fly.

She looked over Bobbi’s latest x-rays. Her knee was going to need more than one surgery, that much was clear. Fitz looked over her shoulder. “That Bobbi?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s going to take her forever to heal that knee.” She looked around the room to make sure no one in the lab had heard them. “Don’t tell her or Hunter I said that, though. Not the best bedside manner.”

Fitz shook his head. “You’re doing the best you can. We all are.”

Jemma sighed and put down her medical files. She grabbed what she needed for the next task on her list. Monolith duty.

“So, about what I was saying before. About what you’re doing tonight,” said Fitz.

“I told you: I’m going to run some tests on the monolith and then hopefully have an evening off. Finally.”

Fitz chased her as she left the lab. “Yeah. That’s what I was wanting to discuss. What we could do.”

Jemma opened the door to the room housing the monolith, Fitz trailing after her. “I don’t really have time to plan something right now,” she said. She didn’t have time for almost anything but work. It was such a shame, really. She had been so looking forward to having that date with Fitz.

“No, I could plan it. Maybe a meal,” he said.

Jemma looked down at the screen by the monolith, exasperated. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she was grateful to have him around. After months of painful distance and barely speaking, it felt good to be able to have a regular old-fashioned bicker with him. Maybe she would even roll her eyes. Classic.

Things were getting back to normal, but in a totally new way. She was excited to see where this next phase of her life would take her. One thing was for certain, whatever happened from now on she would be with Fitz, possibly in all the new ways she’d been dreaming of.

“Dinner?” said Fitz. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jemma rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No, I don't. You keep going on and on and I still don't know what you mean!"
> 
> Would have liked to have more of a resolution to end this, but this is canon, so...
> 
> Thanks for reading my interpretation of Jemma in season 2. I wasn't sure anyone would want to follow me down this road, so I appreciate your comments and kudos tremendously!


End file.
